The Masks We Wear
by quantumkumquat
Summary: There's an unknown lunatic dressing up as the Silver Shroud and cleaning up Goodneighbor's most-tolerated villains; it works out for Hancock, who's more interested in the newest shadow lurking around his town, causing her own trouble. Slow burn F!Sole Survivor and Hancock shenanigans; sprinkling of Valentine who may or may not be quite himself, and a few others.
1. Chapter 1

Rocky could smell the rot of bodies before she even saw them from her place among the shadows; the neon sign reflected into old pools of blood, buzzing, flickering, but everything else was quiet and still. In the dark of night, the sign was the only source of light she had seen for miles, and it shown like a beacon even through the corpse-strewn street. It had been _murder_ to find, she thought with just the smallest tilt of a smile beneath her black respirator, her sharp, amber colored eyes glaring narrowly over the brim of it. Though she was dressed in similar dark colors in an attempt to disguise the shine of armor and the stifled green glow of a Pip-Boy, anything that might give her away, the wet stains of a fight still glittered ominously in every sliver of glowing light. Because the truth was, she was _not_ a fighter, and up until a few months ago, she had never even held a gun. But there was now a very abused tree out in the middle of nowhere that had a personal vendetta against the woman who had wasted precious ammo shooting at its splintered trunk, and there were some very sorry corpses who could now no longer argue that she had been an easy mark.

The blue vault suit might as well have been its own neon sign, flashing 'I'm a sucker' in hot pink, because she hadn't even been out of the vault for a day before the commonwealth dumped her on her ass. Looking back, she was sure the raiders saw her coming a mile away, fresh from the vault in her gleaming suit, and they planted their man in the middle of the vacant road with a tato leaking juice from beneath his armor. And she had fallen into their hand like a blind mouse.

That was past, though, wasn't it? She had left everything she _used_ to be back at Sanctuary, she had taken back her Pip-Boy and mercilessly slain those mocking raiders, and she had grasped at the single thought that, she might not have been a soldier like Nate, but she was an _incredibly_ pissed off mother, and as it turns out, that had gotten her pretty damn far.

Even now, that was what drove her, despite an uncomfortable distribution of shallow bullets- _most_ of which had been dissuaded by her armor- and an annoying cut that was leaking near her elbow that made her feel especially cranky. Hell, she hadn't even known there was a settlement in this goddamn pit of city, but she carefully picked her way through the garbage and checked over corpses, following the arrow which directed her down a dead-end alley, with the sign of 'Goodneighbor' glowing cheerfully.

Somewhere near her hip, Dogmeat whined in similar thought.

The name seemed perfectly ironic, she could just imagine herself telling someone that she had willingly walked into a raider trap named 'Goodneighbor', but beyond the makeshift wall, she could see the glow of lights and hear a steady, but low, chant of voices. With her rifle still in hand, she pushed open the door and stepped into the little gathering of brick buildings, one on the left looking like an old historical, state house, and those kitty corner to it were steadily falling away.

The slow creak of the door closing behind her roused the attention of a nearby man, dressed in grimy jeans and a leather jacket, who had been in the midst of trying to light a match on the brick wall and seemed to have given up upon seeing her. As he approached, she watched his eyes giving her the once over, the very same look the raiders had given her after she had stumbled out of the vault. He was about to learn the same lesson.

"You new to Goodneighbor?" he asked, wandering closer though she stood her ground, as though perfectly at ease. "You're going to need insurance."

"Unless it's keep-dumb-assholes-away-from-me insurance, piss off," she answered, her eyes glowering at him over the nose of her respirator. Well, that wasn't her best sarcastic remark ever, but it was a little hard to be amusing when she had been expecting a raider ambush.

"You're going to want what I have to offer, because if you don't have insurance, _accidents_ start happening." He bared his teeth a little with the stressed word, his own eyes narrowing as though to intimidate her, and behind it, she could see a little confidence, as though this had worked before.

And maybe it had, maybe it was just the way of the town to pay this asshole to piss off and many had fallen prey to his scheme, but she was feeling especially pissy. There was a very tender bullet on the edge of her ass cheek that she had been trying to ignore, and the blood around her elbow had coagulated enough that the fabric was sticking to it and pulling at the tender flesh. In short, he was just a _little_ too late to pull this shit with her.

She gritted her teeth together as she forced the butt of her rifle upwards, catching the man just below the ribs with blunt force and was greeted by a deep groan, and maybe she should have left it at that. Maybe she _would_ have left it at that, but that damned look he had given her before, as though she were an easy mark, was mocking her and hell, maybe she was doing everyone a public service by teaching this prick a lesson. So, as he doubled over in pain, his hand raising to try to grasp the front of her jacket, she brought her gun down once more in a dull crack against the back of his shaved skull, watching him slump forward onto the bricks in defeat. "You're right, it's working," she mused, looking down at the groaning, semi-conscious heap.

There was a burst of laughter and a ghoul stumbled forward, one hand clutching at his chest as though the laughter was too much to take, the other grasping for some kind of support, his head thrown back. "Woah-hoh, Finn! Saw that coming from a mile away," he cackled, his black eyes gleaming beneath the shadow of a tricorn hat. " _Oh man_ , Fahrenheit, you can start emptying your pockets now- I'm two hundred caps richer. What I wouldn't give to relive that over and over." Somewhere beyond him, a woman with a half-shaved head was massaging her temples.

"Nothing I hate more than a pushy salesman." For some reason, that statement echoed in her mind.

The ghoul wiped the hint of a tear from the corner of his eye, trying to calm down his laughing fit. "You're gonna get along great here," he snickered, and extended his hand. "Mayor Hancock, welcome to Goodneighbor."

"Rocky," she answered, reluctantly letting go of her gun long enough to grasp his hand, their eyes meeting briefly. At least the _mayor_ wasn't going to reprimand her for showing up and kicking the first ass she saw, but that didn't in any way convince her this wasn't a settlement of raiders or scum. In fact, it almost convinced her of it, but every place she had been to was twisted in some way. Thinking that was that, she stepped over Finn's moaning body toward the little alley, stopping only when she heard Hancock's voice behind her again.

"I could use someone like you, if you're up to some work," he said, lighting up a cigarette and using his boot to roll Finn out of his way, a smile still tugging at the corners of his thin lips. "Bet you could go in and get shit done, not that your _entrance_ was any indication."

Rocky slowly turned, glancing at him over her shoulder. He had an airy voice, almost sultry, the kind she thought could easily coerce someone to his side- even her, maybe, if she didn't know better than to get tangled in someone's shady dealings. After all, this ghoul _was_ wearing clothes about twice as old as she was, if that was any indication of the sanity of this place. Her first priority, besides meeting Valentine at the Memory Den, was to get her wounds patched up. "Don't you think I have better things to do than your laundry list?"

"Besides that gaping hole in your ass, you mean like taking out my lackeys? That kinda 'better things to do'?" He didn't even bat an eye at her snide remark, in fact, he still wore that annoying cocky smile that somehow elicited an angry, frustrated blush from beneath her respirator. "I can see how that would be time consuming."

"Consider it a public service."

"Your ass, or the fighting?"

"Both." She was pursing her lips beneath her mask, trying to keep as much emotion from her eyes as she could possibly conceal, because the moment she let on how flustered she was, was the moment she lost this conversation. From his wicked smile over the glow of his cigarette, she was already starting to feel any hope slip away, though she had to mentally commend him for his persuasive capabilities, as annoying as they were.

"Since you're so interested in servicing the public, this could help us both. And speaking of which, I _am_ technically part of the public, if you're looking for something to service- "

"For fuck's sake, _I get it, I get it_ ," she interjected, quickly, desperately, drowning out the deep, black hole that sentence was surely leading to, a hand shooting up to stop him. She took a breath once he had- thankfully- stopped, her eyes gaping wildly into that mocking, self-satisfied look of his that only convinced her that he was entirely crazy. "Just- don't say 'service' again. I'm listening, and that's not a 'yes'."

"Sure, sure," the Mayor snickered, flicking away some ashes, trying to distract her from his shiny black eyes taking her in, especially that pouting, flustered look that reached up to her glowering eyes. There was an angry defeated sort of expression there, and he had to revel that silent victory; damn was he good at wearing people down, or what? "Some raiders have been disappearing out by a shithole people call Pickman Gallery," he continued, the cigarette going back between his lips. "I don't really give two fucks about them, just want to know what's going on up there, if I _should_ be concerned. Get me? If this is some do-gooder or a fucking menace just lucky enough to hit raiders so far, I want to know."

"Should I give them a medal otherwise?" He was lucky that his needs lined up with her own; if people were disappearing, even if they were just raiders, she wanted to know about it too. There were plenty of settlers just trying to make their way in this shit-hole world, and they needed one less trap in their way. He was right, she could slip in undetected and get to the heart of the matter, even if her entrance just now hadn't been so subtle. She just wouldn't admit out loud that he had been right.

A smile ghosted its way across Hancock's lips, and he gave another cackle, stepping past her. "I like you already."

* * *

Hancock stepped into the old statehouse, making his way upstairs with Fahrenheit trailing along somewhere behind him, though he was moving at an uncommonly and almost suspiciously quick pace. His heart was beating quicker than it had in a long time, and to pretend he hadn't been winded simply by taking stairs too fast, he scooped up a cannister of jet before settling in by a window, peeking through the blinds.

"So, you wanna tell me what the hell that was?" Fahrenheit asked, her arms mechanically folding across her chest as she went to peer out the window with him, wondering what the hell he was trying to see.

"Why the fuck are these windows so dirty?" He pinched the sleeve of his red coat and tried desperately to polish some dust off the glass between the wooden slats, and the thin line he achieved in cleaning was enough for him to peer through with some afforded clarity.

The redhead would probably be disgusted by his strange and desperate behavior, if she didn't know him better. "Because you've never given a shit before now," she bit back, squinting out her own window, bobbing her head for a better view of whatever he needed to see so badly. "If you're looking for the chick you were just drooling over, she's by the Memory Den."

Hancock shot away from his window and collided with another set of wooden blinds, leering through them down at the street with his sweeping eyes, zeroing in like a laser on a certain black-clad body. "I wouldn't say that- I was cool about it. Wasn't I cool?" He checked momentarily over his shoulder, seeing the redhead's deadpan look before he turned back around. "Shit. You're right, I should have done more."

"I don't want to know what 'more' looks like."

He could see Rocky down below, talking to that old trench coat wearing machine that was so distinctly Nick Valentine that he didn't even need to wipe away the smudge of dirt to confirm it. What was she doing with a detective? More importantly, how could he possibly elbow his way into this? Granted, he didn't exactly know the two women of the Memory Den well enough to barge in for a house call, and even in his giddiness he knew he couldn't just drape himself across the nearest lounger and pull an old-fashioned 'fancy meeting you here'. No, he actually needed to approach this with some clarity and with his dignity still intact. Pickman Gallery had been the first thing to come to mind, but he was mentally congratulating himself on that save, suavely setting up another chance to see her again; and Fahrenheit had said he hadn't been cool about this. He'd let Rocky come to him, and she'd be back- oh, _would she be back_.

It was hours later, when the sun had disappeared and lights flickered on throughout the little neighborhood that he saw Valentine exiting the Memory Den; _purely_ by chance, it wasn't like Hancock had been circulating around nearby or anything… that would be absurd. "Well hey, Nicky," he said with a famous half-smirk. "Haven't seen you around in a while."

"Been stuck in a Vault, mostly," the synth said, dryly, his hands going to the pockets of his trench coat.

"You on a case here?" Hancock innocently lit up another cigarette, cupping his hand around the glowing end of the match, his eyes casually darting over Valentine's shoulder to the door of the Memory Den. "Or is this a social call."

"Both, you could say." Those glowing, yellow eyes of his fixed on Hancock, not at all fooled by the façade he was putting up. The Mayor was nosey, undoubtedly in a good way, always wanting to know if the people of his town needed help, but he had a code to uphold here, and the ghoul knew that.

"So, you wanna ask me?" Hancock waited for the detective's eyebrow to quirk up questioningly. "If I've seen anyone. Men? Women? Children? Stray dogs?" His fishing for information wasn't working, the synth was as tightlipped as canned food, but he didn't doubt his ability to wear down literally anyone. "Long lost lovers? Deranged men holding guns? Maybe a dark-haired sister turned rogue and running with a pack of raiders? A fat mayor in a sombrero?"

"Those are all very… _specific_ things," Valentine said, reaching out and plucking the cigarette from the ghoul's hand. "He didn't come through here, so I doubt you would have seen anything."

He _._ _Hah, gotcha, Nick._ Hancock smiled, nodding amicably. "Not much comes through here that I don't know about." He gave Valentine one last look, tilting his head up as he touched the brim of his tricorn hat. "Always happy to help."

"I'd be a pretty shoddy detective if I didn't see through that, Hancock."

The ghoul paused, turning around on his heel and whipping his long coat behind him. "I'm an open book, Valentine. C'mon, don't hurt my feelings like that."

"Just don't see what's wrong with your goons that you can't send them out to Pickman Gallery instead." A line of smoke emanated from the cold lips of the synth, those yellow eyes glowing beneath the brim of his tattered hat. "You didn't offer to go along, but I think I can still guess your motive. I like you, Hancock."

Hancock put his hands over his heart, nestled right in the ruffles of his old white shirt. "Aww. I _am_ hard to resist."

"So take this as a friendly warning-"

"Let me guess, stay away from her?"

" _People in her path tend to disappear._ "

Gooseflesh rose on the back of Hancock's neck as an icy prickling coursed through his body. Had Valentine's voice changed just now? He hadn't really touched a chem lately- lately being in the past few hours or so- but he was damn sure that the synth had gone from 'I'll find your lost kitten' to 'I took your fucking kitten' in the blink of an eye. That voice had become rougher than sandpaper, and in the next instant, it was back to plain ol' Valentine.

"I should get back inside," the detective said, that usual pleasant look back on his face as though nothing had happened. He gave a courteous nod and turned to head back inside the Memory Den, leaving Hancock frozen in place.

* * *

Note:

Does anyone even still read Fallout Fanfic? Oh well. I'm at that point in my life where I don't care. lol

Told you it'd be slow burn, and the main plot line was never heard from again... until much, much later.

We'll have a bit of Silver Shroud next chapter, and a lot more Hancock Humiliation is to come. Let me know what you think so far.


	2. Chapter 2

Their sweet Mayor was asleep, Rocky realized, a smirk crossing her lips beneath her respirator as she beamed down at the lounging ghoul. His limbs had been haphazardly thrown across the sofa, his head was tilted at an angle that whispered promises of a stiff neck, one of his boots had gone astray and was peeking woefully from beneath the furniture, but damn if his hat wasn't still perfectly perched atop his bald head. Scattered inches from where his knuckles brushed the wooden floor, she could see a couple empty jet inhalers.

He wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, she guessed, and staring at him while he was sleeping felt a little creepy, even for her. It was dark outside, which meant absolutely nothing to the townsfolk who were talking and laughing and carrying on in their usual ways, but there was little she had interest in doing; any caps she spent now just meant less she'd be bringing home, and the sooner Hancock woke up and emptied his pockets, the sooner she could be on her way.

He had been rather rude to her upon their first meeting, hadn't he? Her devilish smirk stayed in place, amber eyes narrowing just slightly at the wicked thought and the tempting pitcher of water that lay on the marred coffee table between them. He seemed like the type to hold grudges when woken from a perfectly good drug-induced slumber, and the fact that he had her payment was ultimately what stayed her hand. With a shake of her head at the passing of a perfect opportunity, she went to flop down on the couch opposite him, busying herself while she waited for time to pass.

The radio in the corner was droning on softly, becoming clearer as she focused on the familiar voice.

"Galaxy! _News!_ Radio~."

She could just picture Kent hovering over his little radio, completely lost to the stories he had probably heard a million times. She had met him during her visit to the Memory Den and liked him instantly; her hand went to pat the little messenger bag she had tossed down beside her. There was no way to describe the feeling of meeting someone from her own era, who remembered the same things that she did, that loved to reminisce about the past.

 _"Slowly now, reveal yourself!"_

 _"Silver Shroud, fret not old friend, it's only me."_

"Mistress of Mystery," she whispered along with the voice of Silver Shroud, smiling secretively to herself. She relaxed against the cushions, reveling in the familiar voices, the stories that had the power to transport her back some two hundred years to a soft couch, a firm arm around her shoulders, and a sleeping baby curled into the crook of her elbow.

* * *

The room was blurry and tilting when Hancock finally opened his eyes, blinking and squinting against the faint glow of morning light. He lifted his head up and quickly thought the better of it as blood pounded against his temples, but the simple action was enough to afford him a good view of a black mass on his couch. Did he even own a black coat? Did Fahrenheit? Through his blurry vision he could see it was moving a little, it had hair, and the more he squinted the more he could slowly make out peach colored skin and dark lashes.

His stomach lurched at the realization. That dark-haired woman was back, _Rocky_ , as though he could forget, but what was worse was that she had crept in- and he _knew_ she had crept- and saw him sleeping. _What a fucking creep_ , he smirked to himself, doing the exact same thing and gaping at the snoozing form of the woman. Without those harsh, ember-like eyes to ward him off, she almost looked… docile. Like a sleeping, murderous, mutant hound. Even with Valentine's words echoing through his mind- if that was really who had spoken them- he couldn't see how that threat held any weight, not without any proof. He was usually a good judge of character when it came to synths, and as much as he wanted to tell himself that he wasn't too close to this situation, he knew he was.

Unfortunately, without being under the effects of chems, she was stirring under his gaze.

Hancock quickly fell back against the sofa, shutting his eyes and turning his face toward the cushion, stretching out his limbs once again as he feigned sleep. It was either fear of being reprimanded or maybe a kind of respect that made him want to let her wake up first, to put that façade back on, so she could go on pretending that she hadn't been left vulnerable when she thought no one was watching.

He waited for the sound of her boots touching the wooden planks again, the telltale scratch of cloth as she probably wiped her bleary eyes, and at the floor that blasted hound that followed her everywhere gave a vocal yawn. Hancock yawned himself, inevitably, opening his eyes and propping himself up on an elbow. " _Christ-"_ he choked, mentally commending himself on his fine acting. "How'd you get in here?"

"The front door," she answered, trying to stifle the hint of a yawn, leaning her elbows on her knees and focusing those defiant eyes of hers that he had secretly missed. _Now_ she looked much more like herself, somewhere between irritated and amused. "I waved at three people on my way in, not exactly the heist of the century. And you owe me for Pickman Gallery."

"I think the 'open door policy' is a little lax around here. And I owe you for a _report_ of Pickman Gallery, now spit it out," he said, using the sleeve of his red coat to rub his face. "What's the word up there? We have a hero?"

"I don't think he's going to be winning the Nobel Peace Prize anytime soon… especially not anything for his art. I mean, you can go anywhere and see raider heads on a spike, and Starry Night recreated with human entrails… I just wasn't impressed." She was both horrified and awed by the sight of it. Mostly horrified, but the awe came after she had managed to keep the contents of her stomach down. "It was a little too abstract for my taste. Very Super-Mutant-meets-Picket-Fences."

"That's real sick. What a nice thing to wake up to." The ghoul sat up and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher between them, rubbing his still-throbbing temples from last night's binge. This was a testament of why he didn't believe in first dates- he had sent her into that freak show, instead of picking something easy, something close to home. There were a million things he needed done around this town, but damned if they weren't the last things to come to mind.

"Now you owe me." Rocky held out her hand expectantly, scowling when he pushed his half-drank water glass into her grasp.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Guess I can pay up for that Picasso shit show," he said as he fished his wayward boot out from under the couch, pulling it back onto his foot. "Y'know, if you're still feeling charitable, I _do_ have… _diplomatic business_ , you could say, a town matter that needs a careful hand." So long as he made it seem like it was benefitting them both, he had a sneaking suspicion that she'd be on board with it; no one was going to go investigate raider disappearances unless they were afraid that others- innocents- would be involved. Maybe he should have felt bad about using her goodness against her, but, it just felt too good to be wrong.

"Luckily, they have a _Mayor_ to handle town matters," she bit back, folding her arms across her chest. "Is that shotgun just for show, or do you actually use it from time to time?"

"Both are real, sweetheart," he said, passing her a wink as he patted the shotgun he kept tucked away at his hip. "Come on, don't go on a power trip and make me beg. You've seen what I have to work with, any of these guys look like they could sneak in anything other than a second helping?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, a non-coherent sound hissing out under her breath. "I don't have time for this, I've got my _own_ problems."

"Come on, Rocks, I'll make it worth your time, help you out… anything you need. A little mutual backscratching."

"I'm still mentally scarred from your _last_ favor, so stop being willfully ambiguous, and tell me what you need done."

"Hey, thanks to me, you're going to win every 'I saw the craziest shit' argument for the next few years." He folded his arms victoriously behind his head, but at her narrowing eyes, he figured he had gloated enough. "A couple goons moved into town from Diamond City a while ago, and normally I don't give a shit about the 'personal freedoms' we all enjoy, so long as they don't encroach on anyone else's."

"How diplomatic of you."

"But these guys are getting a little too comfortable, aiming their sights a little too high. They're under the impression that no one will stand against them if they have the right blackmail, if they're owed enough favors. You stop people from spending caps at a store and make the store owner pay you to knock it off, that kind of underhanded shit."

"Gosh, where I have heard this 'accident insurance' pitch before?" Rocky tapped the cheek of her mask thoughtfully. "So they're stepping on toes while trying to get your job, I'm guessing."

"I kinda like being me. I kinda think Goodneighbor wouldn't be so good, or so neighborly, with these shitheads running the show. Plus I don't think anyone else would look as good in this get-up, it's kinda my thing, you know?" He rested his arms across the back of the sofa, beaming across at her. "That's where you come in. They know what my guys look like already, they'd probably see it coming a mile away; I could just storm their little hideout and shoot up the place, but the thing is, they have some of my people working out debts with them. People who might get hurt in the crossfire, feel me? And I'm trying to send a message here, that doesn't work so well when everyone's dead. Kinda want them to realize that nothing goes on in this town without my knowing. So, yah sneak in, do your dagger-in-the-dark thing to these assholes, and we all get to go on with our free and happy lives."

She knew exactly what he was doing. Just that little addition of 'someone could get hurt' was enough for it to dawn on her that he could play her like a finely tuned instrument; this was mostly an errand for him, to protect his position as Mayor, but he had to pepper the deal with a few sad stories and injustices. Maybe he was just taking a shot in the dark, but could anyone look away from innocent people getting hurt? Besides, caps were nice, but, lest she forget, there was still a wayward scientist on the loose that she needed to find and a certain all-knowing ghoul could probably help her with that. But _oh_ was Hancock going to pay dearly for using her.

"Wow, a personal favor from the Mayor of Goodneighbor," she purred, watching his expression falter just slightly beneath that calm composure. "Whatever I ask?"

"Anything," he confirmed, the corners of his lips angling up with that suggestive tone of his.

She tipped her head to the side just a bit, studying him from under her dark lashes while a moment of silence passed between them. "You're lucky I could use a favor," she said, finally, standing up and shouldering her bag. "And you owe me for Pickman Gallery."

* * *

Rocky dumped the bag in Kent Connolly's lap, watching the way his face lit up, his mouth dropping slightly open while she beamed down at him.

"You actually got it!" He pulled out the hat, the coat, the scarf, item after item until he was practically shaking her bag upside down to make sure everything was within view. "I can't believe it was still there- I can't believe _everything_ was still there!" He was like a child at Christmas, pawing through his spoils with a gentle reverence, touching and holding each thing individually before he even bothered to look back up at her. "You really did it, didn't you?" he asked, his blue eyes unnaturally shiny.

She couldn't help but smile back. "You're the one running this station, Kent, you've kept the Shroud alive all these years- you made a custom silver submachine gun… I just got some old duds." She shrugged her shoulders, dropping down onto the edge of his bed. "So, you going to try it on or what?"

His dropped his gaze to the hat in his lap, running his fingers over the dark felt that still felt perfect even after all these years. "I can't," he sighed, looking back up at her. "Look at me, I'm just an old ghoul pushing buttons at the station, I can't go out and... I wasn't even willing to risk going to get the costume, I made _you_ do that. You're always doing something for someone, Rocky."

"Yeah but Kent, I was happy to-"

Her protests were cut off as he tossed the hat to her, a smile coming into place across his thin lips. "Look, if _I_ did it, I'd make a fool out of the Silver Shroud and then people would make fun of me even more than they do now." He held up a hand to stop her continued protests, shaking his head lightly. "You practically _are_ him already! Come on, I think I know you well enough to say that you can't resist cleaning up Goodneighbor."

Damned if he wasn't right. She was going to make Kent happy, no matter what it took, but there was a little detail weighing on her mind: Mayor _Nosey_ Hancock was going to recognize her instantly, of that she had no doubt. Part of her was going to be embarrassed for running around fighting crime in an old costume no matter what, but that would be _so much worse_ if she had Hancock laughing at her for it, especially when he already knew her propensity for do-gooding. Damn him. If she was really going to run around in this get-up, she had to take it a step further. Rocky stood and tucked her hair under the brim of the hat, leaving just the shaved underside exposed, and carefully removed the respirator that usually guarded the bottom half of her face. "There _is_ one thing you could do for me _… Rhett Reinhart_."

Kent was grinning at the name, perking up to attention. "What do you need?"

"Steal a grease pencil from Irma?"

The ghoul raced out of the room, and Rocky wrapped the silver scarf around her neck, shrugging on the dark trench coat that she secured around her waist. With the brim of the hat worn low, in true Silver Shroud style, she already barely recognized herself. Once Kent returned with the pencil, she busied herself in the mirror, thickening her eyebrows in quick, thin strokes, giving herself just the shadow of stubble across her cheeks and chin that she had to be careful not to smudge. "Well?" she finally asked, turning to him for approval. She tried to deepen her voice into a comfortable and more natural sounding way, something dark and off-putting, which resulted in her repeating 'well' a few times over while Kent smirked up at her.

"It's perfect," he confirmed, going to his bed and pulling out an old case from beneath it. He held up the silver submachine gun, offering the end to her. "All it needs is a working prop!"

"Shall we test it out?" she asked, tucking the butt of the gun into the crook of her arm. "Who's the first evil-doer?"

"I got a list," Kent said, dropping back into his chair and whipping out a notepad from his coat. "I- uh- well while you were getting the costume, I got kind of excited, thinking of all the crime that could finally be put to rest…"

"Alright, alright. Start at the top."

* * *

There were so many dark alleys and empty buildings that it was little wonder so much crime went on unnoticed; she could barely hear the chatter of the main street as she picked a path through the garbage and stains, the old hotel jutting up from the gloom somewhere behind her. This was all under Hancock's jurisdiction, Mister I-Know-Everything-That-Goes-On-In-My-Town. Not everything, apparently, and here she was, trying to skid by under the radar so she'd never have to find out how well this costume concealed her. With his stupid x-ray vision, she didn't even want to put it to the test.

There was a whisper of voices up ahead, echoing lightly between two close buildings, and she slowed her careful pace, letting the barrel of the silver gun lead her silent procession until she was close enough to peek around the corner.

Kent's vivid description was spot on, from the man's greasy blonde hair split straight down the middle, to his patched-up coat beneath a worn, army green breastplate. He had a younger, dark skinned man pinned between a chain link fence and the barrel of his gun, and was hastily whispering a string of threats.

"-second time you've been late, goddammit," Wayne hissed between his teeth, jabbing the man in the chest. "You don't think there are a million other scroungers out there that'll get me what I need? You're fucking worthless. Kendra practically handed this job to you, told you exactly where to get the nukes from, and I see you sulking around this shithole."

"I told you, the place is crawling with Super Mutants!" The man jerked as he was jabbed again, the chain link behind him rattling as he was pressed against it. His empty palms were up, teeth shining between his dark lips as he gritted them together. "Please, Wayne- just get me three more guys and I can do it…" His eyes widened suddenly, looking over his assailant's shoulder as his voice trailed off.

Wayne jerked around, meeting a burning gaze beneath the brim of a silver and black hat. "The fuck?" He turned more fully now, his rifle leaving his 'associate' and instead aiming down the little alley. "You fucking lost, prick?"

"You have murdered in cold blood, Wayne Delancy. Now you must answer for your crimes!" Damn, Kent would have been proud of her, even if she felt like an absolute lunatic, using this fake voice and script. The look of confusion and repulsion on the thug's face was entirely worth it.

"Yeah and she wandered into my business same as you, yah looney!" Wayne barked back, shifting both hands to his rifle. Behind him, the scrounger was scrambling up and over the fence, providing just enough of a distraction for Wayne to hesitate.

"Death has come for you, evil-doer!" She pulled on the trigger of the silver gun, but besides a strange clicking noise, nothing happened. "… _Fuck me_."

She barely had time to dart behind the edge of the building again, bullets biting into the old wood and pavement in quick succession. She slammed her palm against the round magazine, trying to fix the bullet feed which only proved harder thanks to her leather gloves, her fingers fumbling as heavy footsteps stomped down the alley toward her. She hissed out a curse between her clenched teeth, gave the barrel another experimental smack, and turned as the footsteps reached her, squeezing the trigger for all she was worth. To her surprise and relief, the silver submachine jumped to life, a spray of bullets peppering the assailant as he rounded the corner, falling backwards limply.

The gun bounced out of his hand as he hit the pavement, bleeding from several entry wounds, a line of blood trickling from the edge of his mouth. "You-" he coughed and spluttered, spitting red to try to clear his mouth, but his efforts yielded little outcome. "F-fuck…"

"Your business is concluded," she took a card from the pocket of her trench coat, tossing it onto his leaking body as the life flowed out of him. "But mine continues." Rocky turned, tucking the butt of the gun into the crook of her arm, but she immediately froze in place. Just down the alley, there was a group of trilby-wearing goons with rifles and machine guns held across their chests, gaping wide-eyed at her and the bleeding body of Wayne at her back.

Even worse, standing just a few feet before his goons, was an all-too familiar, _nosey_ , red-coated ghoul, who was finally at a loss for words, if only for a few, stretching moments. Finally, that wicked chuckle escaped from him, "I feel like I just showed up to a party wearing the same dress as someone else!"

* * *

Note:

I can't believe this story already has some followers, this was literally just a crazy idea I had to get myself back into writing again.  
Thanks for everyone leaving reviews and following along, you're motivating me to keep this crazy idea going!  
I might rework the first chapter and the beginning of this one, so they meet outside of Goodneighbor, but I haven't decided yet. Anyway, please tell me what you think so far!


	3. Chapter 3

(A wild MacCready appears!  
Rocky uses Bribe! It's super effective!  
Summary: The Silver Shroud shimmies up a drain pipe, and Rocky takes the kids for a nice family outing... loool)

* * *

In a black hat with a silver band, that dark trench coat and grey scarf, it wasn't hard to recognize the Silver Shroud from all the posters Connolly kept. Where did he _find_ this guy? And even better- how much was he paying him to run all over town being a caped crusader? Hancock couldn't help but laugh, it was just too much, too absurd, even with all the crazy shit he had seen in his life, this was in the top seven. "I really thought someone was hitting the chems too hard when I heard the Silver Shroud had been seen going behind the Rex, but _man_ , is this worth the look."

"You show up too late to dispense justice," the Shroud said, sticking to that deep, stage voice that didn't sound quite real but close enough. His hat was tilted down, shadowing a pair of glinting eyes that Hancock couldn't see well enough from the distance between them, or in the dying light. Yet, that feeling of strange familiarity stood between them. "Is this not your town, _Mayor_?"

"Yeah, okay, that's fair," Hancock snickered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat. "But I don't think you've realized the depth of the pile of shit you've stepped in, pal." His expression went suddenly serious, his dark eyes gazing beneath lowered brows. "Y'see, Wayne was working for a lunatic, who's working for an even _bigger_ lunatic, and by killing their pudgy little supply runner, you've basically thrown open the doors of the nut house. Right here. In _my_ fucking town. Yah feel me? Does that sound like a good time to you?"

"Even with this knowledge, you have allowed a murderer to operate within the confines of your city," the Silver Shroud boomed; there was some kind of snarky undertone that again reminded Hancock of something familiar, but unplaceable. "Do you fear these criminals enough to sacrifice innocent lives to pacify their lust for destruction?"

"Hey, _hey!_ No one's lust is being satisfied here, _believe me_." He dug in his pockets for his pack of cigarettes and a matchbook, busying his hands that wanted to tremble with withdrawals. "So, what, you going to dispense with this justice I keep hearing about?" he asked, voice slightly muffled as he lit the end of his cigarette, taking a long pull from it. "Because it seems to me, when these guys start poking around, looking to take revenge on someone in a trench coat and a silver gun, they aren't exactly going to have a crowd to pick from."

"They are the ones who should fear being discovered, I am the Nightmare of Night." Beneath the hat, a knot of tension had spread from Rocky's chest to the depths of her stomach, a mix of panic that had her hiding behind a fake voice and these silly lines, and amusement that she was actually getting away with it. Hancock clearly didn't recognize her, and while that had put her a bit at ease, there was still the matter of crossing the threshold she could not return from; there was a difference between being discovered in a silly costume, and being discovered in a silly costume _while_ spouting crazy nonsense. Now she _had_ to make sure that she was never discovered, but without Dogmeat orbiting her legs, it seemed her disguise actually worked pretty well. "Tell me where to find this 'Kendra', and her den of depravity."

"If I knew that, I'd be the one in the trench coat," he said, taking another long, slow pull from his cigarette. "Tell you what. Despite you pointing fingers, I think I'll help you out, as a favor to Connolly. I just so happen to know someone who's about to stumble on some helpful information, and she might know where to find all these idiots. You clean 'em up, my little slice of haven is perfect again, and Connolly can stop sticking his nose into every chem trade that goes on. Might be a good deal of caps in it for you." His little shadow would probably be happy to do a bit of extra good, and more importantly, it'd seem like Hancock had taken the initiative to keep his people safe. Everyone would win this way. "She'd make a decent Mistress of Mystery- what does she wear, like probably some kind of revealing dress? Hm-"

"Find me this information, Mayor," interrupted the Silver Shroud, anything to _not_ hear the end of that thought. "And I will seek you out again. In the meantime, no criminal is safe within your walls." _Hard guess who this 'someone' is_ , Rocky thought, gritting her teeth, but deciding to say nothing. It was just more leverage she could use later anyway, both to make Hancock pay dearly for using her, and to get what she needed in order to find Shaun. But for now- what she wouldn't give for a stealth boy. She pinched the end of her hat and dipped around the corner, disappearing into the alley way with her quiet steps.

Hancock's goons scrambled past him, peering down the alley and seeing nothing, except the untouched chain link fence at the end. Hancock himself turned around without even a look, heading home, his mind full of things to consider.

Shimmying up the drainpipe hadn't been Rocky's proudest moment- this whole night was cumulatively _not_ her proudest moment- but she watched the armed men search below for her, not bothering to look up, before they eventually left too, taking the calling card she had left on Wayne's body.

* * *

Smooth music came pouring out of the Third Rail as soon as she opened the door, back in her usual attire with respirator in place, Dogmeat at her hip once again where he belonged. Ham looked like he wanted to say something about her companion, but thought the better of turning away a dog who behaved more civil than most the patrons, instead giving her a curt nod as she passed. It had been at least a week since her debut as the Silver Shroud, and thankfully hadn't seen Hancock since then- at least, not in costume- though several more people around town had either been found with a calling card on their lifeless body or scared nearly half to death in order to dissuade their criminal activities. Keeping up two facades was getting a little tiring, but who could say no to Kent's puppy dog eyes? He had become somewhat of a local celebrity himself, gone was the ghoul sulking in his corner, bent over a radio, now he had something of a permanent smile and left his room on more than one occasion. That itself made everything worth it.

Rocky descended the dimly lit staircase, spotting the red coat almost immediately, lounging on the corner of a loveseat with a few other people seated around him, the conversation unheard over the music. With the feeling of eyes on him, he glanced up and they locked eyes across the small room, that mischievous smile coming into place as he sensually rubbed the empty cushion next to him.

She made sure he witnessed her grand eye-roll as she stalked over, dropping down beside him, her back against the armrest to partially face him. "You got the holotape?"

"It's upstairs, but it's ready," he answered, stretching out an arm across the back of the sofa. "I think Fahrenheit might treasure it for the rest of her life."

"We're lucky the Museum of Freedom still had that soundtrack," she smirked, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I have a feeling that's how you'll be giving every mayoral address from now on."

"You know me too well."

Her idea to make this holotape had been a stroke of genius; if everything went according to plan at the headquarters, these underhanded idiots would be pissing themselves to Hancock's voice over the loudspeaker. If there was one thing Rocky liked more than stealth, it was a good scare.

"Can I get you a drink? I think I should get you a drink, if you want one," Hancock said, sitting up and taking his empty shot glass from the table.

"I shouldn't," she raised a hand to her face, freeing a few strands of long, dark hair from the buckle of her mask, and Hancock's eyes settled on the random action, his face unreadable for a moment.

"It's cool, I get it," he said with a shrug, immediately diverting his gaze to the empty glass, standing a little too quickly. "This isn't _contagious_ or anything, but hey, after that lard head in Diamond City spread all those rumors about ghouls for his campaign, I'm not surpr—" His voice trailed off as the sleeve of his coat was caught, and he turned to look down into a pair of wide, gold eyes, her body almost pressed against the back of his arm as she stood close to him.

"It's not that," she said, her voice surprisingly firm despite the strange, almost pleading look she was giving. She had never wanted to give away her secret so easily, to be seen as a Vault Dweller which would automatically lead people to assume that she was weak, naïve, and easily manipulated; and yet here was Hancock, thinking he was being judged for the same thing, as a ghoul instead of a person. Rocky raised her arm, pulling up the dark sleeve of her leather jacket, the green, glowing display of her Pip-Boy peeking out and shining against his skin before she pulled the sleeve back down. "The mask… I'm more sensitive than most, to radiation, even just breathing it in the air constantly can add up after a while…" Her fingers were working at the buckle at the back of her head again, undoing the strap and letting the respirator fall into her palm. "I was thinking I shouldn't drink before a job, but, I'll have a drink with you, Hancock. Any day."

His dark eyes never left her face, gaping back into those yellow-orange pools until the mask fell away, and then suddenly he was studying a smoothly shaped nose and a pair of plump, pouty lips. He'd blame his staring on the alcohol, but her face was so close to his as she stood against his arm, he could feel the warmth of her body and just the ghost of her breath, and in that moment, it was too much.

"Wha- st-stop eye fucking me!" She looked just as surprised, enough to stumble over her words for the first time, though her cheeks flushed pink as she realized what she had just blurted out.

"You just flashed me, sick freak," Hancock snickered, breaking out of whatever enchantment he had just been put under, and disguised his own bewilderment by putting his hand on the small of her back and scooting her forward toward the bar. "What kind of vault teaches you to be such a creep?"

"Least I didn't have a choice, what's your excuse?" She didn't dare look back over her shoulder as she was pushed forward, still feeling a shot of warmth blooming through her cheeks she'd never hope to disguise. Instead, she focused on her path to the bar, having to cut through a small group of people to reach the end where Fahrenheit was having a smoke.

"Is everything all set for tonight?" the redhead asked, exhaling a smooth line of smoke as she tapped some ashes into a nearby tray.

"Everything's in place and ready."

"Good, because if you mess up, it's all our asses." It wasn't so much a warning, as Rocky had learned through their limited interaction as of late, but rather a statement. Fahrenheit was blunt and to the point, a trait she most admired, even if it came across a little harsh at times. "Hancock, a word." The redhead shifted to the side as Hancock leaned against the bar next to her, her voice dropping to muffled whispering.

Rocky folded her arms on the end of the counter, taking the moment to herself to try to mentally walk through all she had prepared, though it was short lived. From the corner of her eye she could see two men descending the stairs into the little club, unsure of why they had caught her attention as lots of thugs tended to pass through Goodneighbor; maybe she had been running around as the Shroud too much, but their shifty eyes and the fact that they didn't immediately head to the bar seemed like some kind of red light. They were looking around too much, sticking too close to the wall as they edged toward the back room. God this whole fucking town was mess after mess, she was like a dog chasing her tail yet she just couldn't look away and let it go.

"Earth to Rocky." Suddenly Hancock's hand was waving in front of her eyes and she quickly glanced back up at him, swatting his hand away. "What is it, Lassie? Little boy in a well?" His own eyes were scanning the bar too, trying to see what she had been looking at, but the two men had already slipped out of sight.

She let out a small breath and turned back around, seeing that Whitechapel Charlie had reached their end of the bar and had his optics trained on her expectantly. "A beer is fine, please," she told him, watching him whirr away with minimal complaints this time. Hancock was leaning back toward Fahrenheit, back to their business whisperings, and she barely slipped in an "I'll be right back" to which he gave a suspicious look and a nod before he was turning to see where the redhead was pointing to.

Her elbows slipped off the bar as she turned away, ducking into the red glow of the vacant hallway where she could already hear the grumblings of a deep voice. She stepped toward the doorway, as casually as she could considering there was nowhere to hide and would obviously be noticed the second the two brutes turned around, though at present, they seemed deeply engaged in an argument with another man who was sipping from a shot glass.

"We warned you before you left what would happen if you took jobs in Gunner territory," the thug's voice was deep and gravely, practically a growl. "Now you think you can do what you want so long as you hide out in this dump?"

"Is business _so_ slow that you had to come bother me?" The man knocked back the contents of his shot glass and set it on the table next to him, getting to his feet and adjusting his worn, military style cap. "The Gunners must've really gone downhill since I left, if one or two lost jobs is really hurting you _that much_. I think I have some gumdrops you can save for later so you don't pass out from hunger."

The second guy hadn't said much until then, when he reached out to grab the man's tan coat. "You sonovabitch, MacCready!" His wrist was caught by his friend, who roughly shoved him back.

"Consider this your last warning," the first guy continued, after shooting a narrow-eyed look at his partner. "We hear about you taking another job, it won't matter _where_ you hide."

"Took you three months to get here, and I wasn't even hiding," MacCready shrugged his shoulders, his eyebrows drawn low over his blue eyes. "So, see you in what, a year?"

"We don't have to take this shit, Winlock- Goodneighbor be damned," the second guy huffed, despite being shoved toward the door again.

The two Gunners turned to leave, barely throwing a second look at the woman who was leaning against the doorway with her arms folded across her chest- seeing as there was little else she could do after being noticed besides looking unapproachable. It seemed to work well enough, as the two men went on by without a word. She looked back at MacCready, who was picking up his shot glass again.

"What do _you_ want?" he asked, flopping back down into his chair.

"Looking for a job?" Rocky smirked, watching his head snap up in confusion.

"You're serious? Pretty sure you saw that whole conversation, start to finish…" His eyes were narrowing a bit, looking her over suspiciously. "Guess I kind of like the poetic justice of making a deal before Barnes and Winlock are even out the door. What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Does it matter? I'm pretty sure you hired guns don't really care what the job is, good or bad, so…" She had wandered in a little closer, keeping her arms folded leisurely across her chest, though she smiled at the look of irritation on his face, laughing lightly before he had a chance to argue. "It's just a quick walk in the park, really. We slip in, take out a few criminals who've been giving me a headache, and slip back out. I'll even let you be the one to flicker the lights, if you want. So what's the going rate for a wanted man these days?"

He studied her for a moment, letting a moment pass between them before she prompted him with an arched eyebrow. "Two hundred and fifty caps, up front," he finally said, standing.

Rocky laughed again, putting a hand to her mouth as she shook her head. "Think you're worth that much?" she teased, unable to squash the smile that tugged at her lips, especially at that scowl of his. "The point of this job is not to get discovered or a bullet in the back, so… how do I know you're worth it?"

He picked up the sniper rifle he had leaning against his chair, cradling it in his hands almost fondly before tossing it to her. "I was a hired gun, lady, so if you're worried about accuracy, don't be," he said, watching as she looked over the rifle. "Even without the scope I can hit just about anything. And hey, you heard it yourself, took those morons months to find me when I've been bumming around Goodneighbor in broad daylight."

"I haven't seen you around," she said, handing back the gun.

"Exactly."

Another smile came across her lips, and she slowly shook her head. "Alright, MacCready is it? I think we can do business." She held out her hand. "Rocky."

He gave her hand a firm shake and nodded at something over her shoulder. "That your dog?"

She turned, seeing Dogmeat standing in the doorway, with Hancock just behind not looking too happy. "Yeah, don't try to pet him though, he's been known to bite… Oh, you mean Dogmeat?"

"That's the worst fucking joke I've ever heard you make," Hancock mused, holding out the beer bottle he had brought. "And unless my ears suddenly fell off, which isn't such a stretch after that, you're doing business with _MacCready_?!"

"Actually _you're_ doing business with him. You owe me for Pickman, and I'm thinking along the lines of two hundred and fifty caps?" She smiled up at him, despite the scowl she was receiving.

"You've got to be kidding me. _This_ is what you're going to cash in on."

"Upfront, please," the ex-Gunner chimed in, helpfully, an edge of his lips turning up in a smirk in spite of himself.

"Unbelievable. Fine, if he's going, I get to go too. This is _my_ business, after all, what's better than having the real deal there?"

"Because you paid me to do it, and what's the point if you're just going to do it yourself?" Rocky protested, though she was largely going unheard as the two men argued with each other.

"I've seen you in action before, MacCready, you're about as silent as a mirelurk in tap shoes."

"Says the man carrying a shotgun."

" _Hey_ , I like needing one shot, takes skill to get close enough to-"

"Any idiot can just run in and start blasting away with that mini-cannon-"

Rocky's temper was rising the more the two boys argued, her words might as well have been muted for all the good they were doing. She set her beer bottle aside and caught Hancock by the ear, bringing his face down to her level though she wasn't much shorter than him. "If you're both done being _stupid_ -"

"I had more, but, go ahead," MacCready chimed in at her shoulder.

She released the ghoul's ear, ignoring his secret smile he wore for unimaginable reasons, both of them finally at attention. "Hancock, you're going to pay MacCready his money, and then you can come along, _if_ you're _quiet_. MacCready, I need someone to take out the guards on the roof, so you'd _better_ be as good as you say you are." Rocky picked up her beer bottle and took a few steps toward the door before turning to them again. "Let's get the holotape and go, I can explain the plan on the way. We still have to meet Valentine across town."

"Was _everyone_ but me invited?" Hancock grumbled, rubbing his ear a bit, though now the gears in his mind were working once again. He hadn't seen Valentine since that _glitch_ or whatever it was, and while the warning had been meant for him, something in his gut was warning him against leaving Rocky and Valentine alone. "Hey, Rocks, there's something I should tell you, about Valentine…" He put a hand on her elbow, drawing her a bit closer to him as MacCready gathered his things in the corner, lowering his voice.

"Yeah? What?" She looked up at him expectantly, watching as he closed and opened his mouth a few times in succession. "Hancock?"

"He… uh, just that… we know each other." He couldn't do it. There was something wrong with Valentine, but even more, there was something wrong about tattling on him like a child. What if it really was just a glitch or something? He'd be crying to Rocky over nothing, and it'd never happen again to show her proof. The most he could do was a keep an eye on him, for now, at least until he had a better idea of what was going on.

"Yeah…? And it's _because_ you're such a celebrity that we're having to sneak into a dirty warehouse and take out your disgruntled fans," Rocky said, freeing her elbow from his grip. "Come on, we have work to do."

* * *

They were nearing the old warehouse on the water when Valentine approached them, stepping out from the confines of a nearby building as he holstered his old pistol. "No one's come in or out for a few hours," he said, joining their little group. "Who's the merc?"

"MacCready," he introduced himself, staring sideways at the synth, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"He's going to handle the guards on the roof," Rocky explained, turning to look at the old building. "We have the holotape and the explosives, everything's set. The bottom floor is heavily guarded, so we'll have to climb the service ladder to the roof once it's cleared. Hancock and I will get into the office in the warehouse; MacCready, you'll be at the bottom floor to secure our way out." She dropped the black bag she had slung over her shoulders, rooting around to take out a few nuke mines that had been duct taped together and wired to a kitchen timer, which she handed to Valentine. "Remember, don't set the timer until the end of the tape. There's a couple people in there working out their debts by crafting chems, so if they don't have a gun, leave 'em. Everyone else on guard duty is fair game, but we want most of them alive to hear the holotape."

"Easy as pie." Valentine pocketed the mines, switching out his gun with a silenced pistol from the bag.

"Everyone ready?" There was a general nod of agreement from the group, and Rocky turned to Dogmeat, getting him to flop over next to the bag where she knew he'd stay. Finally, she took up her rifle, and the group headed in.

There were several old service lights on the roof of the building, emitting faint glows against the dark of the night, occasionally obstructed when a guard would pass by. To Rocky's eyes and without a scope, she could just barely make out their forms when they weren't standing near the glow, but her 250 caps were certainly being put to good use; she heard a faint pop and one of the guards dropped off the side, the sound of his body hitting the dirt below was enough to draw another curious onlooker who soon found a similar fate. There were two more from what she could make out, and with two more muffled shots, one fell in front of a glowing light, and the fourth dropped somewhere unseen.

That was her cue to move in, staying low as she jogged toward the side of the building, the rest of the group close on her heels. She ascended the ladder as quick as she could, drawing her rifle to make sure the roof was empty as the rest followed up after her. The door into the warehouse's attic stood ajar, and she carefully eased herself a few steps down the metal ladder. The attic was a mix of electrical panels and whirring generators, set in a cement room of dim lighting with a few crates and old mattresses to one side; she could barely hear the footsteps of another guard, who thankfully walked right past the ladder to flop down into an old armchair in front of a computer. Rocky continued her descent, putting the strap of her rifle over her shoulders as she instead drew a jagged dagger from her waist. She crept around a strip of panels, angling herself behind the guard and making quick work of him before the others were noticed coming down the ladder.

There were a few others in the attic with them that were taken care of as silently as possible; once the space was cleared, Valentine flopped down behind the computer to start breaking in. "I'll hold things down in here," he said, glancing up at them. "Be careful in there. Once the timer starts, remember you only have about five minutes."

"Same to you," Rocky said. "Set the charges and get out, don't wait around for us."

The old synth smiled and nodded, and the rest of the group moved on to the stairwell.

There was another door on the next landing, opening up to a series of metal walkways at the top of the open warehouse; below, workers were huddling over crates and metal work stations, vats were steaming every few feet, and glass apparatuses were dripping chems into small vials. The group split up at the door, with MacCready following the stairwell the rest of the way down, and Hancock and Rocky lingered by the suspended platforms.

Down a small slope the walkway led to a metal office against the wall on support beams, where they could see a tall man moving within.

"That'll be Ruddy," Hancock whispered. "The royal assfuck who runs this whole thing. Got kicked out of Diamond City for this same shit... the one time Diamond City kinda did something remotely right."

"I can only see one guy by his door," Rocky whispered back. "But this stupid metal grating isn't great for hiding if anyone is smart enough to look up."

Hancock chewed his lower lip for a moment, then held out his hand for her rifle. "You go first, I'll cover you. Deal?"

She sighed and handed over the gun, drawing a jagged dagger from her waist instead. "I might as well walk naked into a Mutant camp," she grumbled. "If I get shot in the ass, _again_ , I'm going to be pissed." With Hancock grinning behind her, Rocky moved off, standing up straight and walking as casually as she could.

It was inevitable that the guard at the office door should notice her, and he watched her approach with a mix of suspicion and confusion. "Who are you?" he asked as she came within earshot. "Haven't seen you before, you get picked up in Goodneighbor?"

Rocky held the blade of her dagger against the back of her wrist, keeping her hands at her side. She wasn't so good at the innocent act, but she had to be good enough at _something_ to get within striking distance. "In your dreams, pal. Kendra sent me, to set up another trade."

" _Another?_ We just dropped off less than a week ago!"

"Yeah? Well she's got more people working for her, so your piss-worth a' chems isn't gonna cut it." She was in front of him now, folding her arms as she came a step closer. "She wants her shit by Wednesday, that means you got three days to get it together."

The man pursed his lips, letting out a breath. "I gotta run it by the boss, but it can be done. Same place?"

 _Oh shit._ Where was the same place? She let a moment of silence hang between them and cocked an eyebrow as she wracked her brain for a guess, which, luckily, she didn't have to make.

"… Water Street Apartments?" he continued, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. There was a small _pop_ sound behind them, and his eyes started to shift over her shoulder toward the stairwell.

In a moment of panic, she brought up the glinting blade, plunging it into his throat to strangle a cry he had been building up to. He gurgled on his own blood before dropping to his knees, sliding off the dagger and collapsing onto the floor. She looked back at Hancock who was sighing and shaking his head at her. Oh well, she'd be sticking to stealth from now on, but at least she had gotten a little bonus information for the effort.

They took up stations on either side of the door, crouching low with their backs against the wall; Rocky just barely had to turn her head to peer inside the little room. Ruddy was hunched over a safe in the corner, a desk with a computer and microphone behind him, and an old holotape player against the side wall. Carefully she crept inside, stopping against the side of the desk as she brought out the orange holotape from her jacket, having to duck-waddle to the edge. She glanced back at Hancock who was carefully peeking inside as well, waiting for him to give a quick nod before she dared reach out from behind the desk.

She opened up the top of the cassette slot and eased the tape in, having to pause again, knowing the action of shutting it was going to make some noise. She withdrew her hand momentarily, glancing back to her partner who was trying to shoo her on. There were a couple confusing pantomime actions happening between them as they tried to decide what to do, but finally the expected moment came and the lights flickered off; Rocky reached out like a striking viper and shut the top of the player with an unnoticed _click_. Her heart was pounding in her chest despite trying to keep calm, and despite the confusion and pitch black, she groped around the desk to turn on the mic on for the PA system, and then pressed play on the holotape before ducking back to safety.

The lights came back on, and the speakers were practically booming as the tape started up simultaneously, drums and flutes playing a little ditty reminiscent of revolution and marching red coats, courtesy of the Museum of Freedom; there was an eagle cawing- sounding _very_ man made- and at the sound of Hancock's voice, everyone's confusion turned to sheer white fear.

"Evening, mother fuckers," said Mayor Hancock's voice over the PA system. "This is your _Mayor_ speaking. That's right, look around, look at your confused-as-shit fearless leader scrambling around his office. Where could I _possibly_ fucking be?" There was a familiar sound of dark laughter. "I didn't get to be Mayor based on my damn good looks alone. I see _everything_ that goes on, shitheads; this crappy operation you got going on, all the freaks- _my_ freaks- that you've stepped on along the way, every little deal you've made within my walls and so much as a fucking sneeze I was there to catch the drips… What kind of cocky bastard thinks he can get away with shit in _my_ town, without _my_ knowing about it?"

Ruddy had stood, looking from the holotape player to the window and all his confused men down below, who were staring wide-eyed back up at him. He quickly turned, slamming his hand around on the desk trying to turn off the mic, until he noticed the barrel of a rifle was peeking at him over the edge of his desk. He paused, swallowing audibly, as Rocky leaned over the chipped metal with her gun drawn, staying low enough to not be seen out the windows.

"Did you really think this would be enough to take me out?" the holotape continued. "I can tell you guys weren't trying very hard, so maybe I'll be a _little_ lenient. Got a ticking present for you up in the attic right now, it's probably got about ten seconds left if you can run that fast… ten… nine…"

There was absolute chaos down below. Workers were pushing and shoving each other as they scrambled toward the nearest exit, stepping over the bodies of their comrades without a second thought as they ran desperately toward the door, _any_ door.

"Guess we should be moseying along," the real Hancock said, coming out from behind the doorway and shutting off the mic. "How's it going, Ruddy? Not so well, huh?"

"Sonova-" Ruddy's curse was cut off as Hancock's shotgun was pressed against his chest, and he grabbed the barrel, pulling it tighter against him. "You're out of your _fucking_ mind, Hancock! Just get it over with!"

"Nah," the ghoul said with a wicked smile. "Think I'd make it that easy for you? Just wham, bam, thank you ma'am? I think there's a little something between us, something special. So I prepared this _just_ for you." He held up a finger, waiting for the drums and flutes to slowly fade out, until a new song came on, a woman's voice wailing over the holotape.

" _Why does the sun go on shining?"_

Ruddy groaned in pain at the voice, covering his ears miserably as he was pushed down into his chair. "You're out of your fucking mind," he whined as Rocky freed his hands from his ears, holding them down at his sides.

" _Why does the sea rush to shore?"_

Hancock spun the man's chair, winding a length of rope around him, pinning his arms to his sides and effectively tying him down. "Just end it now, you prick! Just get it over with!" Ruddy barked, despair quickly turning to anger.

"I think he wants it a little louder," Hancock said over his shoulder, facing Ruddy toward the window.

Rocky was happy to oblige, turning up the holotape player and the awful music until it was unbearable, drowning out Ruddy's protests. Shutting the door behind her and Hancock only provided a little relief from the music and the wailing as they came back out on the metal walkways, both making a show of dusting off their hands. "Come on, Nick should actually be setting the charges about now," she said, shouldering the strap of her rifle now that the warehouse had been cleared. "And we need to make sure MacCready gets out."

"I guess I still need my money's worth out of him."

"It was the money you owed me, so technically, it was _my_ money-"

There was a whistle below, and the two peered over the railing, down to where the ex-Gunner was standing by the locked bay doors, a scowl clearly visible on his face, even from a distance. "You can fight over me later," he barked. "Kinda like to get out of here _before_ the fireworks, wouldn't you? … and for the record, it's _technically_ her money."

"Yeah, we all know who'd you like to take orders from, brown-noser," Hancock grumbled back under his breath, starting down the walkway.

There was an explosion above them and the building rattled fiercely. Part of the ceiling fell away, crashing through the railing and metal grating, landing just yards from MacCready in a cloud of dust and debris.

He was yelling something below, but Rocky could barely hear over the ringing in her ears as she reached out for Hancock's hand. The scaffolding they were standing on was starting to come away from the wall, one part having been crushed by the debris, though the second half slanted upward toward the door to the stairwell. Hancock pulled her forward to the chasm, though they had to reel back several paces as the end began to bend with their combined weight.

"Let me go first," Rocky said, looking up at him.

"What, no argument about who jumps first?" He wobbled a bit as a beam of the platform started to give way. "Okay, okay! You go first- if it holds you, it'll hold me."

"The _worst_ time for a self-depreciating fat joke," Rocky hissed, and leapt across with a running start, stretching her arms out as far as they could reach until she collided with the second platform. She clung to the metal grating almost desperately, pulling herself up until it leveled out enough for her to stand, and turned to Hancock as the building gave a second shudder.

His own walkway was quickly falling apart, but he readied himself to jump, taking a few steps back for a running start. He never had a chance to make it.

Before his feet even left the platform, a shot rattled out through the warehouse, glancing off the steel railing at his side; at the same time, Rocky felt a hand digging into her hair, wrenching her head backwards until she was staring up into a familiar pair of yellow eyes.

"Valentine!" Hancock yelled from the other side, gripping the railing.

She already knew it wasn't him. His eyes may have been mechanical, but there was still something cold in that look, something angry and dangerous, something distinctly _not_ Nick Valentine. "Looks like I get a second chance at this," his voice was like rough sandpaper again, sounding almost otherworldly, deep and cruel, dredging up all the anger she had ever felt for Shaun being taken. "I was right before, I should have killed you when you were on ice."

"I'll gladly kick your ass a second time, Kellogg," Rocky growled, wincing as he tightened his grip on her hair. She had one hand on his, trying to loosen his fingers to no avail, but the other had pulled the jagged dagger from her waist, and as she gritted her teeth, she drove it through the gears of his wrist. "Stay out of Nick's head, asshole!" It was enough of a release to pull free, but in front of her, Hancock's platform was quickly collapsing.

Enough supports had fallen that the metal grating was starting to shift and bend, making it lean at a harsh angle that was hard to hold onto; even as Hancock wove his fingers into the metal to try to hang on, the platform was creaking beneath him. He planted his boots on a shaky beam, and in a final effort, he kicked off to launch himself toward the other side.

Rocky's arms stretched out toward him, the two grabbing each other's wrists as she tried to pull him up, despite his body slamming into the slanting walkway with the effort. She gave a sharp tug on Hancock, using all the strength she had to try to haul him up the rest of the way, desperately trying to hurry as behind her, Kellogg had freed the dagger from his wrist.

Once again Hancock was left clinging to the grating as Rocky turned to defend herself, his boots unable to find enough of a purchase on the walkway to help himself up.

The dagger was tossed away as Kellogg reached into his tattered trench coat, drawing out the rest of the nuke mines still attached the kitchen timer. He tossed the contraption to her, and without thinking, she caught it, as carefully as she could while trying to keep the explosive's stable.

"Now we _all_ die," Kellogg said in his twisted voice, drawing his pistol once again, taking aim at the mines in her arms.

Two shots rang out through the warehouse, and Rocky's ears were ringing, her head feeling like it was full of water. She had instinctively shut her eyes in the expectation of being blown apart, and after a long, harrowing moment of silence, Rocky finally opened her eyes.

MacCready's bullet had pierced through Kellogg's hand just in time, causing the pistol to jump sideways with the impact; its own bullet barely missed the pack of nuke mine's and buried itself instead in Rocky's bicep.

She cringed from the pain but still held onto the mines with her good arm, the other rendered mostly useless as it burned with pain and dripped a steady line of blood down her slack fingertips. All she could do was cradle the charges against her chest, even as Kellogg recovered with two battered, almost useless hands. How could she possibly keep up a fight, knowing Nick Valentine was still in there? Either she destroyed his mechanical body to get rid of Kellogg to save Hancock and MacCready, or she spared him, and they all most likely died.

There was a flash of red at her side as Hancock practically launched himself the rest of the way up the sloping platform, his fingers sore and burning from hanging on and climbing, his knees scraped from the metal of the walkway. He went crashing headlong into Valentine's body, knocking them both through the door into the stairwell. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Hancock hissed through his teeth, trying to hold down the synth who had a surprising amount of strength. He had once called Valentine an 'old bucket of bolts', and he swore he never would again, after a sucker punch seemed to rattle every single organ in his body.

Rocky set the mines down and twisted the kitchen timer, then charged into the stairwell herself, dragging a moaning Hancock up by the collar of his coat. "The timer is broken- I don't know how long we have to get out of here, but we have to take Valentine with us!"

"You still want to save him?!" Hancock took his shotgun from his waist, using the end of it to knock Kellogg back into the wall.

" _Yes!_ " Rocky shouted, standing at his back. "I did this to him- I have to fix it!"

There was only one way to get this unstoppable synth out of the building in a timely manner with minimal destruction… He pushed Rocky toward the stairs and ran after her; inevitably, Kellogg chased after them.

It was the single most stressful and strenuous thing Hancock had ever done, and it felt like it was straight out of a story; he ran through a crumbling building, with a ticking bomb above them, while being chased by a murderous synth close on their heels.

He couldn't even think about the burning in his lungs, the ache in his legs and feet, that metallic taste on the back of his throat as he gasped desperately for air; he made a million deals with himself while he ran, promising to smoke less, promising to exercise more often outside of fighting and sex, maybe he'd even say 'thank you' once in a while _anything_ so long as he could keep going _just this once_.

The four of them burst out of the exit and took off across the yard, MacCready heading the pack with Kellogg easily gaining ground, closing in fast on Rocky who insisted on holding up the rear to try to push Hancock along quicker. A blast of heat raced across their backs and they were all thrown forward from the explosion, bits of flaming debris and cement chunks raining down around them as they desperately crawled on.

Kellogg was getting back to his feet much quicker than the rest, but unfortunately, the closest person to him was a very angry ghoul who had just been forced into exercising. Hancock blinked the little white dots from his eyes as his mind pleaded desperately to just pass out, and stood up once again, shotgun in hand. "If you _ever_ pull this shit again," he growled, raising up the gun and finishing his thought by bringing the end of it down on Kellogg's skull.

Nick Valentine's body slumped down, lifelessly, a bit of static sparking from the site of the blow, but nothing more.

* * *

Note: Get ready for some feels next chapter.

Again, I can't thank you guys enough for following and leaving reviews. Please tell me what you think, it inspires me to keep going! We haven't even reached our M rating yet!


	4. Chapter 4

**Much Ado about Valentine**

Note:

Hey guys, I haven't forgotten about you!

I rewrote this chapter over and over, for some reason I just wasn't satisfied with anything.  
We have a few familiar faces showing up, and a lot of talk but no action.  
That'll change, so enjoy this moment of relative peace before everything goes to hell.

As always, let me know what you think!

* * *

The Memory Den had never been so lively, even from Kent's room muffled shouting and arguing still won out against the radio playing in the corner, and as he curiously opened the door to peer out through the dim lighting, the sounds only became clearer. His eyes connected with Irma's, who had been agitatedly flipping through a magazine, turning the pages with more force than necessary, a cigarette burning between her fingers. They stared at each other for just a moment but it was long enough to convey a silent conversation, and the tall, thin woman shot up from her lounger with a huff, tossing an end of the feathered boa over her shoulder. She hastily stomped her way down the stairs, opening the door at the bottom which only released the full-volume of the shouting match within. The room was nearly stuffed with people, Irma had to glare over a few shoulders to even spot Doctor Amari toward the back, bent over a computer, but the rest of the group hardly even noticed her presence.

"He can't stay in Goodneighbor," Hancock was barking, his own cigarette dropping a bit of ash as he jabbed Garvey in the chest. "Think just 'cause we're freaks we got nothing to risk? My ass is still burning from that little jaunt he gave us, if he goes berserk again-"

Garvey was barely an inch from the ghoul's face, shouting back just as fiercely. "And you think he's safer at Sanctuary?! We have women and children, Hancock, same as you!"

"You got fucking _turrets_ mounted every twenty feet!"

"And you think these turrets can just _magically_ detect the difference between Valentine and Kellogg? You're out of your mind. I won't endanger the people who fought hard to start a new, safer life in Sanctuary. They trust the Minutemen to keep them safe, we're just now getting back on our feet-"

"If only you had- oh, I don't know- a _castle_ filled with gun-toting farmers and enough ammunition to blow a crater in the commonwealth? Speaking of which, I don't appreciate you using my shack as target practice, that little shithole diner had a lot of good memories for me before you came along and cannoned the shit out of it." Hancock took a step back, his dark eyes narrowing at this sudden realization of trauma.

"Can we maybe not focus on gunning down Valentine?" A man wearing sunglasses indoors tried to helpfully chime in over the din of voices, though his retort was met with a fierce response from Fahrenheit who had been circling Hancock's shoulder like a leashed mongrel.

"And what, let you synth freaks drag him off to your little lair and reprogram him to do fuck-knows what? I know a synth when I see one," the redhead snapped and the explosion of voices all arguing at the same time continued, though somewhere amongst them, MacCready was helpfully singing 'Accentuate the Positive' while Dogmeat whined at his knees.

It took a few unsuccessful attempts at being heard before Irma turned to the light switch by the door, flickering it several times until the voices slowly petered out after a final 'someone touched my butt' followed by Hancock apologizing. "Need I remind you all," Irma cooed, her lilting voice still the essence of dark seduction despite the death glare she was shooting to each person individually, "this is a quiet, reverent place for reliving _pleasant_ memories, _not_ a raider bar hellbent on raising the dead!"

There was a collective silence before Doctor Amari looked up from her computer, having to stand a little taller to see toward the door. "Sorry, Irma," she apologized. "We'll try to keep it down." She was met with a slightly softer smile before the woman recoiled back behind the door, shutting it with a soft click before stomping back up the stairs. "I've done all I could," the doctor went on with a defeated sigh. "He's ready to come back online, but as for Kellogg's memories… there's not much I can do on my end. This goes beyond memories and interfacing, it's like the entirety of Kellogg has been stored inside Valentine, he needs someone familiar with Institute tech."

"Our best option is to have our guy take a look at him," Deacon said, edging around Garvey's back. "He's more familiar with Institute tech than anyone, he's our best chance at getting Valentine back to normal."

"Normal being _spying_ on everyone?" the redhead hissed, taking a threatening step toward Deacon though Hancock set a heavy hand on her shoulder. "If they get hold of him, then having a psychopath taking his body for a joyride won't be his only problem, or ours."

Once in relative safety on the other side of the irritated-looking Minuteman, Deacon seemed to relax a little. "No one else has experience with synths, other than the Institute itself and they're a little more unwilling to tango with outsiders, if you know what I mean. I'd kind of rather them not have access to Valentine's memories."

"We have enough problems without the Institute being directly involved," Preston said, removing his hat for a moment to pass a hand over his head. "If we have a chance to help Valentine otherwise, then we should take it."

"The Institute is already involved," Rocky finally said, snapping out of her silent reveries as she raised her gaze to the mob before her, pushing away from the counter she had been leaning against though she kept her bandaged arm babied across her chest. "It's complicated, but Kellogg worked for them directly. If given the chance, he could contact them again and who knows what would happen, at the very least he could call in an army of synths. That's the reality of what we're dealing with, and the sooner we erase him from Nick's mind, the better."

There was another lull of silence as every pair of eyes stared at her, but Hancock was the first to speak, taking a step toward her as he flicked his ashes in the general direction of a ceramic ashtray. "So that begs the question, what were you doing messing around with the Institute's lackey? Or is that just another Tuesday for you?"

Deacon and Preston both looked pointedly at Rocky, who shrugged in response, wincing a little as her bandaged arm throbbed with the movement. "Kellogg had information that I needed and he wouldn't willingly give it, which is why… Which is why Nick had to run his memories through his own tech, that was the only way to get the information we needed. If I had known… I never would have agreed to it, if I had known the risks." Her eyes passed over Valentine's body, over his hands that had been poorly and temporarily patched up, at his closed eyes and almost peaceful expression. She let out a breath, looking up again. "Deacon was right, the Railroad knows synth tech almost as well as the Institute itself, they're our best hope of getting Valentine back to normal. However, I don't want to risk him waking up as Kellogg in the middle of their operations, so Deacon, you and I will agree on a place to meet with Tinker Tom."

"Somewhere secluded, I hope," Deacon answered, glancing toward Fahrenheit behind his sunglasses; the redhead wrinkled her nose in response.

"Preston," Rocky continued, "until we can meet with them, you and your men will escort Nick north to Sanctuary." She held up a hand as he opened his mouth to argue, furrowing his brow. "I know the risks as well as you do… if not more. Kellogg can be ruthless and unfeeling, but Nick doesn't deserve to be treated like an armed bomb to be tossed around until he goes off. I don't know who he'll be when he wakes up, and I don't know how long he'll be that person… but our first priority should be to help him. He'd do the same for any of us. Sanctuary has enough armed men to keep an eye on him, but he's always liked it there, he's always liked helping everyone out, so as long as he's still Nick, he at least will have some semblance of normalcy. Agreed?"

Preston ran his teeth over his lower lip in thought, shaking his head, though he finally looked up with a defeated sigh. "Alright, fine... But it seems to me like we should let _him_ decide."

"Betcha one hundred caps he'll want us to chain him up out in the Glowing Sea," Hancock cut in, blowing out a lungful of smoke. "Valentine's a martyr. He'd rather be _unplugged_ or whatever than risk hurting anyone."

"And why is that not the obvious option?" Fahrenheit asked from his shoulder. "Guy clearly wants this scavver dead, she said it herself that he's ruthless. If you can't be sure who he'll be, then why risk it at all."

"Maybe," Rocky shook her head lightly. "But there's nothing worse than waking up when the world has gone on without you, to not even have a choice." She turned away for a moment, coming to stand at Valentine's side and pulling up a short stool. "It's ultimately Nick's decision, you're right, but I'm not going to give up so easily. He'll at least hear us out. Ready, Doctor?"

"Hang on. There's still two people here who didn't get a special little task," Hancock said, folding his arms and looking toward MacCready.

"Speak for yourself," MacCready said, swinging his legs from his seat on the counter, bending a wooden tongue compressor between his palms.

Hancock looked back to Rocky, extending an arm toward the ex-Gunner pointedly. "The fuck?"

"Someone has to go to Diamond City to tell Ellie what happened, tie up some of his loose ends," Rocky answered, rolling her eyes. "Did you want to go camp out at the gate? Or put a mask over that pretty face and hope no one recognized literally the only person in the Commonwealth who's ballsy enough to wear a red frock?"

"When you put it like that… Still wanna feel important, though."

"I don't think you need a job to do that," she said, settling in on her stool. "We'll talk after. Go ahead, Doctor."

The woman nodded, tapping in a few lines of code on the keyboard before she moved to stand at Valentine's side, giving Rocky one last look of warning before gently removing the cable that had been attached to the wires at the base of his skull.

For a while, nothing happened. Nick remained still for several minutes, his eyes closed and body limp, even as the Doctor fixed the wires at the back of his head. Finally his fingers twitched, and then contracted. His chin raised ever so slightly as his eyelids sleepily flickered open, his yellow eyes trying to focus, and after another long moment of waking up, his hand raised to his temples. "Rocky?" the name was just whispered, but it was enough for relief to wash over her at the recognition of Valentine's soft, reassuring voice. "Think some of my wires got tangled. How long was I out?"

She smiled a little, releasing the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Hey Nick," she answered. "Not too long. How's the head?"

"Sore, if that even sounds possible. Like a million things running through my mind at once." He passed a hand over his bare head, feeling the absence of his hat, and his eyes slowly turned to the group standing nearby, to the five faces all eagerly watching him.

"Thought we'd throw you a welcome back party," Hancock snickered, holding out his cigarette. "Remember anything?"

Valentine took the cigarette and raised it briefly to his lips, letting his other hand fall limply between his knees. "I'm not sure… I remember leaving Goodneighbor, and being in a warehouse by the river. I was at a computer while you three went downstairs. Can't think of anything after that." He released a bit of smoke, letting the cigarette glow between his fingers. "Did they get the jump on us?"

"Not exactly." Rocky shifted on her stool, leaning her elbows against her knees. "Remember a while back, after we killed Kellogg? We brought his brain augmenter here, to Doctor Amari, to look through his memories."

Valentine nodded along. "Sure, that's how we learned about Shaun and that scientist."

"Right. Well, afterwards, you… Remember the mnemonic impressions?"

Nick frowned a bit, rubbing at his temple with the knuckle of his thumb. "You said I spoke like Kellogg. What is this about, Rocky? You think he's still around in my head?"

"There's a chance some of him might still be left over, Nick."

He dropped his gaze for a moment, focusing on a spot on the tiled floor as he took another pull of nicotine, letting the smoke slowly drift from his lips as he processed this. "I'm guessing this is more than just a grizzly warning," he finally said, raising his eyes to her face once more. "Tell me what happened."

"Nothing much," Hancock chimed in. "You just played hot potato with a bunch of nukes, tried to throttle us with your bare hands, then chased us out of a burning, crumbling building."

"No one got hurt," Rocky assured him.

"Except the people we wanted to," Hancock added.

Valentine dropped his gaze again, slowly shaking his head, but his hand moved to partially cover his eyes as he leaned against it. "So Kellogg lives on, huh. In my head. That's why the rest of you are here- Garvey and Deacon. Nice face, Deacon, the sunglasses give you away."

"Not always," the synth answered, adjusting said glasses.

"This is my fault, Nick," Rocky said, taking his old hat from the table to hand to him. "I know what you're going to say, that you willingly let me run Kellogg's memories through you, but I still asked you to do it. We could have found another synth to use, Kellogg had plenty with him, but I was… impatient, and impulsive. I selfishly put you at risk. I'm going to make things right again, which is why everyone is here."

"It's no one's fault." Valentine reached out for the hat, laying his fingers on top of hers. "Even if I knew the risks then, I still would have gone through with it; you'd do the same for me, if you were in my shoes. Kellogg wouldn't have willingly given up that information, we did the only thing we could. So what's the plan to get rid of him?"

"Well, Tinker Tom-"

"Is going to gut out half my software with his sweeper robots and battery acid?" Valentine pulled on the hat, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd be within thirty feet of that guy with my wires exposed."

"We'll keep him on a short leash," Deacon promised, coming to stand at Rocky's shoulder with his hand stuffed in his jean's pockets. "He's your best chance, knows Institute tech like the back of his hand. We'll keep the eccentrics to a minimum."

"Zero is a more reassuring number. Don't have much of a choice though, do I?" He waited for the woman to shake her head, and then shook his along with her. "Didn't think so. I know you won't let him meddle with my brain more than he has to."

"Promise," she said with a nod. "As for Garvey, we thought you'd be happier at Sanctuary. He's going to take you north, and MacCready will be going to Diamond City to see Ellie, so she doesn't worry."

"You thought of everything." He snuffed out the cigarette on the ashtray, then slumped back in the chair. "Do what you have to do. What about Hancock? For once he isn't involved?"

"I'm taking that a little to heart, Valentine," the ghoul said, putting a hand over his chest. "I got the most important gig of all."

"Why do I have a feeling it involves little work on your part."

"I get to hang out here, keep my ear to the ground, be at our fearless little leader's beck and call. _Anything_ she needs, day or night. I'm like the sidekick… with benefits."

"So you do nothing and get to feel important. Sounds about right."

"Think I heard that line somewhere before…"

Rocky rubbed at the bridge of her nose, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Moving on from that, I still have work to do, Valentine. In case Tinker Tom doesn't have the tech to remove Kellogg, it's just another reason to infiltrate the Institute. I need to find that scientist, for both our sakes. I'll be with you when Tinker Tom shows up, but until then, I think it'd be better if I was away from you, in case I'm the one drawing out Kellogg."

"You sure you don't want to just keep me shut off? Long as I don't wake up in a junk heap again…"

"Pay up." Hancock cackled wickedly and held out his hand, which Garvey smacked away with an irritated grumble.

* * *

It was a while longer before Rocky finally came up the stairs from Dr. Amari's office, Hancock trailing along at her side with his hands idly in his pockets, whistling some kind of scattered tune. She rubbed at her sleepy eyes with the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt, casting a long look at Kent's door where she had taken a good share of naps, but forced herself to shuffle on by. There was still one more thing to be done before she could rest, though it was hard to find the will to do anything besides sleep. She took the black respirator from her pocket and placed it back over her nose and mouth, securing the buckle beneath her loose hair.

"You ever talk to Kent?" Hancock asked, using his rear to push open the front door, meanwhile tilting his head in the direction of Connolly's room.

Rocky blanched, glancing up at his inquisitive face as she stepped around him, though her reaction only seemed to draw more suspicion. At this point, it was probably better to play dumb when caught off guard, especially if he had seen her look toward his door. "Kent who?"

"I know you weren't stoned for the conversation about needing to know where Kendra was- that was my job." Hancock fixed his tricorn hat, stepping out into the lights of the alley. "He holds the leash of the Silver Shroud, IE the scarfed lunatic who got himself ass deep in a crime ring."

"A crime ring that's been using Goodneighbor as a doormat, from the sound of it," she responded, before she could stop herself, giving Hancock a pointed look. "I remember, and I remember that little comment about a slinky dress. There's one too many costumed crusaders running around, and I'm not fighting crime in a skin-tight dress and heels."

"I could find other things for you to do in a skin-tight dress and heels."

"Let me guess, paint the statehouse?"

"Oooh, I'll leave that comment alone," he said with a wicked laugh, winking slyly down at her.

"For once I'm genuinely curious to know how you could turn painting into a sexual innuendo."

"Don't question the dark corners of my mind. But if you really want to know, I could have a dress and heels in a matter of seconds."

"Your _other_ costume?" she asked, smirking beneath her respirator and leering up at him with satisfaction; he shook his head in response. The door to the statehouse was opened for them both, and she was the first to step into the eerie quiet, the stairs creaking beneath her feet as she made her way up to the second landing. The seriousness of Valentine's situation was always severely lessened in the presence of Hancock, it was something she found she greatly appreciated about him, but there was something she couldn't avoid any longer. She had kept him in the dark about the real situation as long as she could, but Valentine had said too much, about the Institute, Shawn, and the scientist. "Look, about Kellogg… I know I owe you an explanation, but-"

"It's alright, Rocks," he said, stepping around her at the top of the stairs, leading the way into his dimly lit room. "I'd rather speculate wildly." He aimed a wily smile over his shoulder at her, scooping up a new pack of cigarettes from the coffee table before leaning against the back of the couch. "I get that it's your business. I should have told you before, in the Third Rail, but I guess it didn't seem like much then- didn't really understand it. Valentine just used that maniac's voice to say some ominous shit and then he was back to being Valentine, like nothing happened. I thought it was a glitch or the chems or something."

"Oh yeah, your ' _uh, we, uh, know each other, uh_ '," here she changed her voice to sound as dopey as possible, before continuing on normally, "was a _great_ head's up."

"Real' hilarious, Rocks. He just said some shit about people around you disappearing, that's not _exactly_ a big indicator about wanting to blow us all up."

"You should have listened to his warning." Hancock's eyes widened and then narrowed at the words, and she almost couldn't believe she had said them, but it didn't make it any less true. She folded her arms across her chest, steeling herself, putting up the cold, indifferent front that was so much easier to do than to let him into this sinkhole that was her life. "And I shouldn't have brought you along."

"I asked to go." Hancock's face was unreadable, but he maintained his distance, his hands on the back of the couch on either side of him as he leaned against it. "We clean up our own messes, you and me. Can't say I'd be at the head of the line if I'd known that homicidal maniac was floating around Valentine's wires, but, if anyone was going to put Ruddy down, it needed to be me. What kind a' shitty mayor doesn't fight his own battles?"

"Not you, Hancock. And after all the fighting and the running, no one can doubt your dedication to Goodneighbor," she teased, the hint of a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

"We make a good team. Even in the nearly dying part."

"You had my back… that means a lot." The words hung in the air between them; there was something strange and unfamiliar written on Hancock's face that made a bit of color rise in her cheeks, but she quickly cleared her throat, turning to the desk in the corner. She put a hand on the hazmat suit that had been laid out for her, looking it over, checking every seal and seam but Hancock had been thorough this time, it was practically flawless. The other things she had asked for, a couple StealthBoy's and boxes of ammo, along with the extra Rad chems, were all bundled together in a backpack. It was just about everything she needed to go into the Glowing Sea, to finally seek out the rogue scientist, to hopefully put in the last piece of the puzzle before she could find the Institute. "Speaking of keeping Goodneighbor safe, this is a mess I have to clean up on my own."

"You don't _have_ to do it alone, Rocks." There was clearly something deeper going on here, which he had always suspected about her, but even after seeing first-hand the mess with Kellogg, he couldn't turn away. Perhaps it was sheer lunacy on his part, considering she was turning him into a masochist; punishing him for his involvement while simultaneously making him want more. She held debts over his head, lured him into this mess with Valentine, which nearly included being blown to pieces by nuke mines and buried under a pile of flaming cement rubble, and had basically admitted being Institute Enemy #1. If this was just the tip of the iceberg, he couldn't even imagine what the bottom looked like. He had every reason to turn away and not get involved, to protect Goodneighbor and his people like his mind was counseling him to do, but at the very word of her leaving- knowing it would probably be for good- an internal switch was flipped, and suddenly a different body part was making some very good points about why he _should_ be involved, about why he _hadn't_ turned away so far. Even after Rocky had said she'd been the cause of what happened to Nick, he still couldn't turn away, he couldn't allow himself to believe that her intention behind it had been selfish. "What did he mean, when he said you were on ice?"

Rocky paused as she stuffed the suit into the backpack, feeling something prickle along her spine to the back of her neck. "The vault I was in…" She swallowed, shrugging her shoulders, trying to make it into not so big a deal, despite the sickness in the pit of her stomach at remembering. This was just opening the door that she didn't want Hancock to see through, to get a glimpse of the life that was too intimate to be shared out in the open, but she kind of owed that to him. After nearly dying because of her hasty, selfish actions, maybe he deserved more trust on his end. "It was a cryogenic vault. I was on ice for over two hundred years... kinda like a pre-war ghoul, but, you know, the frozen, fresher version."

"You're fucking with me." He squinted at her, trying to decide if she really was just screwing with him, but beyond that fake smile she had put on, barely reaching up to her eyes, he could still see the shard of weary pain behind it. She was telling the truth. She was a fucking _relic_. "You're _serious?_ "

"I don't have a good punchline otherwise." She shrugged again, zipping up the bag and hoisting it over her shoulder. "Sanctuary was my actual home before the bombs, it was just a lot different back then. Everything was. I mean, you remember the color green don't you…?"

"I'm not a pre-war ghoul." Now it was her turn to wear the incredulous, disbelieving look; her mouth formed a few words, but nothing coherent would come out. He just smiled, waving a hand to brush it off again. "Yeah, had a smooth set of skin just a few years ago. I'm a knockout _now_ , but back _then_ …"

"No one should have that much power."

He cackled back, running a hand over his chin. "It was criminal. Anyway, what I found was the only one of its kind, some kind of experimental radiation drug- man, the high was worth it. And what's not to love about immortality?"

"I guess you can't watch the world go to hell a _second_ time…" It was devastating to see what the world had become, to see everything dead and gone, so drastically changed, even worse to have to experience that alone. But, to see humanity still thriving, still carrying on despite these past wrongs and _still_ finding beauty in the world… that was a form of hope she hadn't known existed. "Kind of ironic, you're young and I'm old."

"I always did have a thing for older women," he said with a wink, drawing out a laugh she couldn't disguise. "Gray hair, canes, that 'back then' story of yours- oooh, _reminisce_ , baby."

"And here we see the _darkest_ corner of your mind." She shook her head at him, trying to squash the inevitable smile blooming over her lips, even though she was glad that he hadn't made anything serious about the topic, when there was a world of pain lurking in the past. Maybe someday she'd be ready to face it again, when she found Shawn, when she could finally feel like people weren't trying to take advantage of her desperation. At least finding the scientist was a start, when every lead felt like a dead end. "I should go, thanks for the suit, Hancock. For being thorough about it."

"You got it." He had been shuffling the pack of unopened cigarettes from hand to hand to pocket, but now he finally cast them back on the low table, though his eyes lingered on something stronger. Damn the pact he had made with himself. "It's not pretty when I get sappy, so, if you ever need anything, you know where I'll be."

She almost felt reluctance to go, at losing something that had taken her mind off everything else, but she had to carry on. She had to do this, for Shawn and Valentine. Even if she continued her work as the Silver Shroud, carrying out this one last mission, afterward she knew she had to get serious. The Glowing Sea was waiting. Rocky strung the backpack across her shoulders as she went to the door, turning slightly for one final look. "See you around, Hancock." He made some kind of half-hearted saluting motion, and with that, she turned to go down the stairs, to leave Goodneighbor behind.

* * *

The cloud of smoke from the smoldering wreckage at the Silver Shroud's back was reaching up toward the sky in a long, wavering pillar, and for a while, she simply stood by and watched it burn. The past few days had yielded little rest, and truthfully, she wanted it that way. Taking out Northy and Smiling Kate had been the distraction she needed, her final act as the Silver Shroud before she really buckled down and got serious about the Institute. But before that could happen, there was one final person waiting to die. She slipped an orange holotape into her Pip-Boy and slammed the player shut, waiting for the static to clear and a hollow, woman's voice came on.

"Sinjin's not happy, Northy," said the voice, as cold as ice. "You let the Shroud get this far, and now Sinjin's getting personally involved."

There was a noise behind her, and Rocky turned her head just slightly, peering over her shoulder toward the open street behind her. There was movement in the shadows, a dark-skinned man with a rifle was approaching as quietly as he could, staying low to the ground. She gritted her teeth together, and the voice on the holotape played on.

"He's going to pay a personal visit to the costumed freak's little flunky in Goodneighbor," hissed the woman. "Now's not the time for failure."

The tape ended and something sick and heavy was developing in the pit of her stomach, even before she turned fully to look toward the hiding Minuteman. "Preston, where's Valentine?" she called, taking off the black hat and letting her hair pool around her shoulders.

Preston stood, looking uncertain but even from a small distance she could see him squinting at her. "Rocky?! What the hell are you wearing?" he called back, emerging from the shadows. "Or do I even want to know?"

"It's a long story." Not to mention it was embarrassing and hard to explain, but at least Garvey wasn't the sort to rat her out. "Where's Valentine?"

He pursed his lips together, still looking over the costume and the drawn-on beard. His instincts had told him to follow the pillar of smoke in order to find Rocky, and in a way, they hadn't exactly been wrong. Smoldering piles of wreckage was somehow normal for her. "I think you mean Kellogg. We were half-way to Sanctuary and suddenly he just… I don't know. He just went crazy, grabbed Randal's pistol, started shooting at us and took off!"

She was pinching the bridge of her nose, gritting her teeth together as she shook her head. Poor Valentine hadn't even made it to Sanctuary before Kellogg took over, and it disproved her theory that the maniac would only be drawn out in her presence. Now he could be anywhere, doing Christ knows what. "Took off where?"

"I don't know, looked like he was heading South again, good thing I found you first before he did."

"If he's not looking for me, he's looking for the Institute. Dammit!" She let her hand drop and instead clenched her fists, looking back toward the smoldering rubble. If only she had heard the news _before_ she raided Northy's hideout. What a giant, deathclaw-sized pile of shit she had stepped in. "I have to go back to Goodneighbor, Kent's in serious trouble-"

" _You're_ in serious trouble! That crazy guy doesn't mess around- he almost took us all out!"

"I know the feeling. Look, the only thing we can do is wait for him to come to us. Kellogg's careful, he was practically impossible to track down. Dogmeat only found him because he smoked these cigars, and I doubt Valentine would leave anything behind. In the meantime, I need you to do something for me."

Garvey pursed his full lips together, nodding along. "What can I do to help?"

"I need you to spread the word to our settlements to keep an eye out for Valentine, but don't mention anything about Kellogg. Just say Nick's gone missing, and if anyone's seen him, to send word to the Castle. Valentine's done too much for these people, he's earned their respect- I don't want to see that fall apart because they think he's gone rogue." She replaced the hat on her head, tucking her hair back up into the brim. "Please?"

"Yeah, alright." He gave her one last look, taking in everything with a small shake of his head. The things she got roped into, sometimes it was just better not to ask. "I won't ask, but, try to take care of yourself in Goodneighbor. I'll be at the Castle, try to lure Kellogg there if you can."

The Silver Shroud nodded, picking up the silver submachine gun that had been leaning against a nearby stump. "I will. And you know, there's other radio stations _besides_ Radio Freedom," she teased, receiving a sort of flat, unamused look in return which only made her smile. The two clasped forearms and then parted ways, Garvey heading to the Castle, and Rocky to the one place she didn't expect to return to.


End file.
